


Past Past Prologue

by vocal_fries



Series: Subtext Becomes Text [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Anal Sex, Episode: s01e03 Past Prologue, First Time, Garak is such a daddy, Jeez they talk a lot, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Meet-Cute, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Subtext Becomes Text
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 00:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13938279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vocal_fries/pseuds/vocal_fries
Summary: The queer interspecies meet-cute we all love revised with the egregiously smutty outcome we all deserve.





	Past Past Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've used direct quotes from DS9 S1E3 "Past Prologue" for their dialogue in the first scene, and I claim no authorship over that deliciously subtext-laden bit of genius. All the other exhausting conversation is my own.
> 
> Full credit to tinsnip for the Cardassian anatomical concepts and terminology contained herein.

Elim Garak walked into the replimat, scanned the space, and smiled. _Finally, this luscious young man is alone_ , he thought, as his eyes settled on Deep Space 9’s new chief medical officer. He had been watching the Dr. Julian Bashir for several days, weighing the wisdom of introducing himself. Bashir rarely dined alone, it seemed, and Garak recognized the valuable opportunity presented to him. The doctor was intoxicatingly beautiful, and Garak’s brief research on the young man had revealed that Bashir had graduated second in his class at Starfleet Academy. _It’s almost unfair to be so gorgeous_ and _intelligent. But it’ll make this much more interesting_ , Garak thought to himself as he slowly threaded his way through the replimat toward Bashir’s table.

“It's Doctor Bashir, isn't it?” Garak asked, rounding the table. “Of course it is. May I introduce myself?”

Bashir’s hazel eyes widened. “Uh, yes, yes, of course.”

“My name is Garak,” came the low, silky reply. “Cardassian by birth, obviously. The only one of us left on this station, as a matter of fact, so,” he continued, catching Bashir’s eye significantly as he sat down, “I _do_ appreciate making new friends whenever I can. You are new to this station, I believe.”

Bashir’s eyes widened again. Garak watched from behind a serene smile as the younger man collected himself to reply. “I am, yes,” Bashir stuttered, flustered. The doctor clasped his hands and attempted to casually lean in, but he found himself caught up in the floral arrangement on the table. He swatted the slim stems as he attempted to carry the conversation forward. “Though, though I understand you've been here quite a while.”

Garak’s smile broadened enigmatically as he watched Bashir squirm under his gaze. “Ah, you know of me then.”

Bashir seemed to remember his manners. “Would you care for some of this Tarkalean tea? It's very good.”

“What a _thoughtful_ young man,” Garak purred, smiling into Bashir’s still-wide eyes. “How _nice_ that we've met.”

The doctor tried to flag a server, clearly unsure how to respond to Garak’s advances, or even how to maintain the intense eye contact Garak directed his way. When it became clear that the replimat staff were not paying attention, Bashir collected himself somewhat. “You know, some people say that you remained on DS9 as the eyes and ears of your fellow Cardassians.”

“You don't say?” Garak asked, his tone and facial expression theatrical with intrigue. Glancing around the replimat, Garak caught Bashir’s eye again, lowering his brow ridges conspiratorially, mockingly. “Doctor, you're not intimating that I'm considered some sort of _spy_ , are you?”

Garak carefully maintained a blandly friendly expression as Bashir, flustered again, stuttered, “I wouldn't know, sir.”

 _This is so delicious, and so easy_. “Ah. An open mind. The essence of intellect,” Garak responded, smiling suggestively into Bashir’s eyes again. “As you may also know, I have a clothing shop nearby. So, if you should require any apparel, or merely wish, as I do, for a bit of enjoyable company now and then, I'm at your disposal, Doctor,” Garak finished, coyly holding the doctor’s wide-eyed gaze.

Bashir nodded awkwardly, eyes searching Garak’s face. “You're very kind, Mister Garak.”

“Oh,” Garak purred, “it's just Garak. Plain, simple Garak.” _Seed planted, now leave_. The tailor rose from his seat. “Now, good day to you, Doctor.” As he circled the table, he wondered whether he ought to be more clear about his intentions, being relatively unfamiliar with human sexual customs. He paused behind Bashir and slowly but firmly gripped the young man’s shoulders. He felt the doctor tense beneath his hands. “I'm so glad to have made such an interesting new friend today.” Before Garak removed his hands, he felt an unmistakable tremor run through the doctor’s shoulders, and he smiled to himself as he walked away, aware that Bashir’s eyes followed him as he left.

* * *

Bashir sat in his quarters, nervously clutching a cup of Tarkalean tea. It was 2230 hours, far too late to feel so awake, but his mind wouldn’t rest. Meeting the Cardassian yesterday, he had felt unsure whether the older man was indeed a spy interested in Federation secrets or instead, as he seemed to imply, simply a tailor attempting to make a handsome young friend on a space station that presented limited sexual options. As Bashir had turned the question over in his mind, he had also felt uncertain what he wanted the answer to be.

The prospect of grappling with a spy appealed to his sense of adventure and love of intrigue. But Garak possessed a strange beauty that entranced Bashir, and he found himself frequently remembering the unexpected jolt of excitement that had coursed through his body when the Cardassian touched him. He hadn’t been with a man since before Palis, his girlfriend during his late Academy days, and the unexpectedly firm pressure of Garak’s hands on his shoulders had flooded Bashir with old yearnings. _And new yearnings, perhaps_ , he thought to himself, picturing the Cardassian’s icy blue eyes staring through him, as they had at the replimat the day before. Garak had seemed to delight in Bashir’s uneasiness, and Bashir couldn’t decide whether the man had been pleased to put a foreign adversary on edge, or if perhaps he somehow recognized the doctor’s interest in being dominated by older men.

When Garak had directed Bashir’s attention toward the activities of the Duras sisters over the past 26 hours, helping him piece together information that ultimately led to the arrest of the terrorist Tahna Los, Bashir had decided the Cardassian must indeed be a spy. Although this idea thrilled him, he’d felt a pang of disappointment. He really _had_ wished that this dangerous, alluring older man was simply a tailor with a cold dominant streak, interested in meeting a new young man who would provide him with “enjoyable company.” Then, as Bashir had passed Garak’s Clothiers after his shift that evening, Garak intercepted him.

“Doctor Bashir!” Garak had greeted him, placing his hand on Bashir’s forearm. Bashir’s stomach clenched as little sparks seemed to explode out through his capillaries from the point of contact. “How wonderful that Commander Sisko and Major Kira were able to apprehend Tahna Los. I’m so pleased they received the necessary information to prevent whatever atrocity Tahna had planned.”

“Uh, ah, yes. Very fortunate,” Bashir had stumbled through a response, distracted by Garak’s hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

“I thought we might celebrate our humble contribution to peace in this sector with a drink. After all, it’s not every day that a doctor and a tailor foil a terrorist plot,” Garak had said, smiling deeply into Bashir’s eyes, lightly squeezing the younger’s man’s arm.

“I, uh. I-, uh-, uh. Sure,” Bashir had finally stuttered, his clenched stomach now overshadowed by the rapid thundering of his heart. “A drink. When?”

“I just have one more commission I need to finish up tonight. Is 2300 too late, doctor?” Garak had asked, eyes all polite innocence. Bashir had felt his slight blush extend to his hairline.

“No,” the doctor had replied.” “Uh, no, 2300 is fine. Shall I meet you at Quark’s?”

“Quark’s is so noisy. Would it be too much of an imposition to meet in your quarters? I’m afraid my own are out of the question, as I tend to take my work home with me too often. My quarters are lousy with half-finished projects from the shop,” Garak had explained. His face remained impassive, but had thought he saw the Cardassian’s eyes glitter as he awaited a response.

“Oh, um. All right. My quarters, then. See you at 2300 for a drink.”

Less than an hour had passed since their exchange, but Bashir felt he had experienced lifetimes of doubt in that time. Garak had clearly been flirting. He wanted to meet Bashir for a drink. _Alone. Late at night. In my quarters!_ That must be flirting. But then, what if Garak simply did not want to attract attention so soon after intervening in the Tahna Los affair? Perhaps working with the Federation was dangerous for a Cardassian spy, and he feared being associated with a Starfleet officer so soon after the arrest of a high-profile terrorist.

Bashir sighed, staring into his tea. _I wish I knew what to expect_ , he thought. “Where’s my sense of adventure now?” he remarked wryly. His empty quarters offered no answer, and he sighed again.

As much to pass the time as to feel comfortable, Bashir changed out of his uniform. He dressed in one of his few off-duty outfits, a long-sleeved white linen v-neck tunic and black slim-fit linen pants. The white of the shirt presented a striking contrast to his dark golden complexion, and its soft texture draped more naturally to the shape of his body than the heavy structure and shoulder pads of his uniform jacket. The outfit had served Bashir well on first dates in the past, and dressing in it boosted his confidence as he waited for, well, perhaps another first date.

 _Date?_ He rolled his eyes at himself. _Stop. Or, I don’t know. Maybe it is._

At 2300 precisely, Bashir’s door chime sounded. He took a deep, steadying breath and straightened the hem of his shirt as he crossed his quarters to meet Garak at the door. Garak’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly as they flicked briefly over Bashir’s outfit.

“Good evening, doctor!” he enthused. His eyes flickered with amusement and, Bashir hoped, desire.  “I don’t suppose Starfleet has redesigned those wretched uniforms since last we spoke.”

“Uh, no. No, I just wanted to, uh. To change into something a little more comfortable,” he finished awkwardly, cringing and hoping that this phrase sounded less trite in Kardasi translation.

“Well, you look radiant,” Garak replied, eyes tracing the younger man’s form again. Bashir felt vulnerable under the Cardassian’s gaze. _Am I afraid, or turned on?_ When he returned to Garak’s face, the man held his gaze for a moment longer before speaking. “So, doctor, have you decided on a change of venue, or might I come in?”

Bashir blushed, eyes widening, and he stepped aside. “Come in! Sorry. I suppose I’m more, uh, tired at this hour than I realized,” he spluttered, gesturing into his quarters. “But I’m looking forward to this! To uh, having a drink. Having a drink to celebrate.”

Garak smiled opaquely and entered the room, door whispering shut behind him. He followed the sweep of Bashir’s arm and took a seat on the small sofa.

“So!” Bashir said brightly, trying to recover from his awkwardness. “What would you like to drink? Aside from the replicator’s options, I also have a few bottles of araqi, a distilled alcohol from Earth. It originated in Sudan, a former republic of Africa. I developed a taste for it when I visited distant relatives in that region, to better understand my heritage.” _Pulling out the big guns, as they say._

“How charming! I’m certainly interested to try it,” Garak responded pleasantly. “What is it distilled from?”

Bashir sorted through a cabinet to retrieve a bottle and two glasses. “It’s made of dates, a sugary fibrous fruit grown in desert and Mediterranean climates on Earth. Araqi was illegal in its country of origin for much of the late 20th and 21st centuries, as the dominant religion forbade consumption of alcohol. The government of Sudan was theocratic for nearly a century. The prohibition in alcohol, like most bans in Earth history, simply forced the industry underground. As a result, araqi became a symbol of resistance, and it has maintained a certain cultural importance.” He handed Garak a glass, then sat on the sofa next to him.

“How interesting! Thank you for sharing this with me, doctor,” Garak said as Bashir sat. “Humans offer a toast before a celebratory drink, do they not?” Bashir nodded affirmatively, and Garak raised his glass. When Bashir’s glass joined Garak’s, the Cardassian smiled into the younger man’s eyes. “To the pleasure of new friends,” he purred.

Bashir’s eyes widened, but he automatically repeated the phrase, clinked his glass to Garak’s, and sipped the familiar liquor. He watched as Garak savored the first sip of araqi. The Cardassian was obviously taking his time. He rolled the araqi around his palate, considering it carefully, before swallowing. Bashir suppressed a shiver of anticipation as he watched. _If trying a new beverage garners this degree of focus, what must a more sensual activity merit?_

“Do you like it?” Bashir asked, and he flushed again when he heard his own voice. He’d spoken more softly than intended, a vulnerable note of hope unmistakable.

Garak met Bashir’s gaze. Instead of answering, he took another sip, studying the young man’s face. He swallowed delicately. Not breaking eye contact, he smiled, inscrutable. “It’s delightful. It has a deeper richness than I initially detected.”

Bashir returned his smile, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat with measured breathing. “It’s often mixed with other ingredients to make sweet cocktails nowadays, but I think that, when aged properly, it’s best enjoyed neat.”

“Indeed,” Garak said, nodding. “Being a simple man myself, a prefer a simple presentation.”

Bashir’s smile twisted into half a smirk, and he risked a flirtatious tone. “I suspect your palate is not so simple as you suggest. I’ve not met many who can appreciate the subtle depth of araqi.”

Garak shrugged. “Perhaps their expectations are too elaborate.” He sipped his araqi and quietly surveyed the room. “Doctor, might I impose upon you to increase the temperature of your quarters just slightly? I’m afraid we Cardassians are quite a bit cooler-blooded than most Federation species, and although I am most invigorated by your enchanting company, sitting still allows the chill to creep in.”

“Of course! Computer, increase ambient temperature by 3 degrees Celsius,” Bashir commanded.

“Thank you, doctor. You are most kind,” Garak said with a polite Cardassian nod.

After several more minutes of companionable chatting, Bashir noticed that Garak still appeared stiff, keeping his arms crossed when not sipping his drink. “Are you still cold?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s no bother, my dear doctor,” Garak said with a dismissive wave. “Cardassians are made for warmer climes than this space station, but I certainly don’t want to make you uncomfortable in your own home.”

Bashir retrieved a small cashmere throw blanket from a chair. “Here,” he said, draping it around Garak. The neckline of Garak’s tunic exposed a significant portion of his neck and shoulder ridges. Bashir let his hands linger as he smoothed the luxuriant fabric over the Cardassian’s shoulder ridges. He gasped quietly in surprise when he suddenly felt Garak’s cool hand cover his own, holding it in place on his shoulder ridge. Garak looked up into Bashir’s eyes, and the doctor’s stomach traded places with his heart as the older man’s piercing blue eyes rendered him immobile. “Is that better,” Bashir asked, hearing that quiet vulnerability return.

Garak smiled, holding Bashir’s eyes. “Much.” He caressed Bashir’s hand, still on his shoulder ridge. “I’m _so_ very pleased to have made such a _kind_ new friend.” He searched Bashir’s eyes, but the younger man suspected Garak already knew exactly what he would find. “I’m quite comfortable now. Please, join me,” the tailor purred, leading Bashir by the hand to take a seat next to him again, now much closer than before.

Bashir sat, noticing Garak did not release his hand. “I’m glad you’re feeling warmer,” he said, unsure how to proceed. _Why the hell am I such a blushing virgin around him? Get in there, Bashir_.

“Tell me, doctor, are you familiar with the Cardassian exoskeleton?” Garak asked.

“The uh, the ridges? I know where they’re located, although my familiarity with Cardassian physiology is limited. Before the Cardassians evacuated Deep Space 9, they deleted their medical database.”

“Cardassian body ridges are both protective and very sensitive. They’re very durable, but they contain a dense network of nerves. They’re more sensitive than the rest of the integument and can detect many frequencies of sound and vibration even through air or water, as well as changes in atmospheric pressure, in addition to the usual temperature, pressure, and pain. Probably the vestiges of some survival mechanism of our earliest ancestors.” Garak met Bashir’s eyes. “They serve a somewhat different function for us now. The closest analogy would be Ferengi ears, or, I believe, human nipples.”

“They’re an erogenous zone?” Bashir blurted, blushing deeply.

“Ah, yes, that’s the word. We don’t have a direct equivalent in Kardasi.”

“Garak, I’m- I’m sorry, I-”

“I took no offense at your familiarity, but I wanted to ensure you knew the significance of stroking a Cardassian’s shoulder ridges before you invite unwanted attention from some Glinn or Gul passing through the infirmary.” Garak smiled, and continued. “I also want to be clear that I welcome such caresses from you, but it’s only fair to let you know how I perceive such an action.”

Bashir struggled for words. As he silently chastised himself for his inability to wrangle a full sentence, he wondered if Garak could feel his palm dampen. “I…” he began, then trailed off. _Goddamn it, Julian._

“Oh, my dear doctor,” Garak said quietly, a smirk pulling at the side of his mouth. He squeezed Bashir’s hand between his own, then moved one hand to brush the backs of his fingers lightly against Bashir’s face. Bashir’s eyes closed momentarily, then fluttered open, blushing again at his own ridiculous response. _How old am I?_ “Dr. Bashir, you are _immensely_ charming, blushing and tongue-tied like this.”

“I-!” Bashir tried again, but stopped when Garak chuckled low in his throat.

“I assure you, there’s no cause for trepidation. Let me make this simple for you,” the tailor purred, catching and holding the doctor’s gaze. “I want to fuck you, beautiful boy.” Bashir breath caught at Garak’s obscenity, and the flame flickering low in his belly blazed up. “I think you and I could have a most pleasant friendship. You’re obviously bright, and I’d like to keep our lunch date next week, regardless of what happens tonight. But I think we could share something more, shall we say, enjoyable, if you are so inclined.”

Bashir’s head spun. “Yes,” he said finally. He looked at Garak, opened his mouth, closed it again. “I wasn’t sure if you were interested in me. Sexually, I mean.”

The smirk twitched again at the corner of Garak’s mouth. “I very much am, doctor.”

“Julian. Call me Julian.”

“Julian.”

Bashir smiled and set down his glass of araqi. Garak’s eyes burned a heated blue, watching him, and Bashir felt emboldened by the desire he saw there. Finally finding his feet, he lowered his gaze slightly to look at Garak through his lashes. He relished the prospect of this cold, beautiful, enigmatic older man taking him in hand, schooling him with that firm touch. “I’ve never been fucked by a Cardassian before.” He grinned, innocent and wicked all in a breath. “Teach me?”

Garak’s smile became predatory, hungry. Bashir felt the heat of that smile between his thighs. Garak pulled Julian’s hand, drawing him closer, and Bashir smiled coyly as he stood and seated himself on Garak’s lap. His breath caught as he felt the older man’s arm snake around his hips and his other hand come to rest on his thigh. “Kissing isn’t altogether common on Cardassia, but I’ve come to enjoy it. Kiss me, Julian,” Garak instructed.

Bashir leaned over obediently, bringing his lips to Garak’s. The Cardassian’s mouth was cool, like his hands, but softer and more pliant than Bashir expected. Bashir parted his lips, and Garak seized the offering, sliding his tongue into the young man’s mouth. _Well, he learned to kiss somewhere_ , Bashir reflected heatedly, moaning softly as the alien tongue stroked his own and a cool hand caressed his thigh.

Garak pulled away after several moments, pupils dilated. He shifted the blanket off himself, exposing his shoulder ridges. Bashir noticed the ridges appeared darker, flushed. “I also like attention to my shoulder and neck ridges,” he told the young man on his lap.

“What kind of attention?” Bashir asked, voice breathy. He leaned in, breathing on the ridges. “Kissing?” he asked, trailing kisses from shoulder joint to neck. “Or licking? Maybe sucking on them?” he murmured into Garak’s auditory ridges. Bashir slicked his tongue across several scales before sucking feverishly at the ridge where Garak’s neck sloped into his shoulder. Garak’s breath caught, and the hand holding Bashir’s hips slid under his shirt, exploring the smooth skin beneath.

“All very good approaches, Julian,” Garak praised, his voice more even than his breath. “But I prefer biting.”

Bashir smiled. He sucked on the ridge a few moments longer, exploring the differences in texture between the scales and the adjacent skin. Reaching a hand to caress the ridges on the other side of Garak’s neck, he bit down experimentally. He felt Garak shiver slightly. Bashir brushed his lips up the ridge to whisper in Garak’s ear, “Harder?”

“Much harder,” Garak responded, his voice becoming rough. Julian licked teasingly back down to the Cardassian’s shoulder, then bit down again, hard enough to break the skin on most humanoids. He was rewarded with a gasp, and the hands exploring his thighs and back gripped him hard. _I’m going to have bruises tomorrow_.

“Yessssss,” Garak hissed.

Bashir’s cock had been slowly thickening and lengthening since sitting on the older man’s lap, but he felt himself harden fully at Garak’s hiss. He moaned softly and continued his efforts, sucking and biting first one side of Garak’s neck and then the other. Bashir noticed with growing frustration that although the older man’s hands became more aggressive in their exploration of his body, they steered entirely clear of the now-obvious erection outlined in black linen.

“Garak,” Bashir whispered with a needy shift of his hips. “I’m so hard.” Teeth grazed scales. “You make me so hard.” A nip. “Touch me?”

“Soon,” Garak replied. He took Bashir by the arms and turned him slightly to look into his eyes sternly. “Soon, my dear. But I promised to instruct you, and your lesson is not yet complete.”

Panting, Bashir looked into Garak’s eyes. _I wonder if I should tell him that scolding me only makes me harder._ He took a deep breath, centering himself. Trying to ignore the throbbing in his cock, he apologized, still pouting. “Of course. I’m sorry.” He batted his lashes and smiled, coy but submissive. “Teach me.”

“Unlike humans,” Garak began, running his fingers achingly close to Bashir’s erection without touching him, “we Cardassians do not have external genitalia. The male organ emerges only when needed. Eversion is, in itself, a pleasurable activity. There are a number of ways to cause it. I’d like to teach you my favorite way.”

“Please,” Bashir breathed, trying to focus on Garak’s words instead of the throbbing of his own cock.

“Computer, raise ambient temperature another 4 degrees C,” Garak ordered. Then he turned his attention back to Bashir. “Stand and remove your clothing.” Bashir stood obediently, remembering the slow, sensual way Garak had enjoyed his first sips of araqi. He removed his shirt and pants carefully and deliberately, resisting the desire to tear them off to get on with the evening. He was gratified to see Garak watching closely as his erection sprang free of the linen pants. The Cardassian seemed to approve. Although Bashir doubted Garak had any frame of reference to understand that Bashir’s penis was thicker, somewhat longer, and, frankly, prettier than the human average, he felt proud of the flicker of desire he perceived in Garak’s otherwise composed face.

Garak stood and removed his own pants, folding them neatly before placing them on the floor beside the arm of the sofa. He sat back down, hips closer to the edge of the sofa than before. He simply watched Bashir for a moment, standing compliant and naked and expectant in front of him. _I wonder what my face looks like right now._

“Kneel between my legs,” Garak instructed. Bashir obeyed, hard cock bobbing as he awaited further instruction. Garak spread his legs slightly, and with one hand, he stroked the scaled slit between his thighs. “This is my ajan, somewhat analogous to a cloaca. I want you to lick me here until I evert.” He leaned forward, bringing his cool lips to Bashir’s ear. “This is not an appropriate area for biting,” he whispered in warning, and Bashir shivered with a perverse mixture of fear at the Cardassian’s icy tone and excitement at the nonchalance of such a barely veiled threat. _He could break my neck before I had time to offer my regrets._ Bashir took a deep breath. _Now is not the time to investigate why that idea makes my cock jump._

Bashir nodded, then ran his hands up the smooth, cool skin of Garak’s inner thighs. Bashir used his hands to gently part Garak’s thighs, just far enough to permit his face to meet Garak’s ajan. He breathed hot air onto it, and he felt Garak’s thighs tense under his hands. Pleased by the obvious sensitivity of the structure, he enthusiastically set to work. He ran his tongue from the base to the top of the slit several times, pressing his tongue further inside with each stroke. Meeting Garak’s eyes, Bashir held his gaze as he licked slowly side to side, the flat of his tongue stretching the delicate tissues open. Garak placed a hand lightly on Bashir’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. “That’s it,” Garak breathed.

Bashir smiled between Garak’s legs. Locking eyes again, the young man very gently sucked along the sides of Garak’s ajan, slowly tugging on the small, scaly tissues with his tongue and lips. He rolled the scales gently with his tongue. “Oh. Oh, that’s quite creative,” Garak gasped. Bashir’s creativity earned him a tug on his hair that jolted straight to his cock, as did the pleasure of hearing Garak’s breathing become shallow and unexpectedly expressive. His own erection, untouched and aching, dripped precum. He moaned into the slick, scaly flesh, and Garak‘s hips jerked and then rolled against the vibrations. _Who knew he could be surprised?_ Bashir thought smugly.

He dipped his tongue deeper into Garak’s ajan, exploring the flavor of the natural lubricant that seemed to be building rapidly. It was mild and pleasantly acidic. He paused when he felt something against his tongue, then realized it must be Garak’s cock. _Maybe that’s not the right word_. He ran his tongue over it, inside the ajan, then raised his eyes to Garak, who was watching him closely.

“What do you call this?” Bashir asked, nudging the hard, slippery organ with his tongue.

“It’s a prUt,” Garak answered, stroking Bashir’s hair. “And I’m going to evert _very_ soon, Julian.”

“Tell me what to do,” Bashir said, eyes and voice coy. The prUt felt easier to reach, and he rubbed the flat of his tongue against its tip as he waited for Garak’s response.

“Reach two fingers inside my ajan, one on each side of my prUt. Yes, like that. Now, rub the base of my prUt with your fingers while you continue everything you’ve been doing with my ajan. Yessss. Yes, like that. Oh, yes.”

Bashir felt his own cock jump as his fingers made contact with the hard base of Garak’s prUt. It was so thick, and the Cardassian’s gorgeous natural lubricant felt silky. Hungrily, he licked and sucked at the other man’s ajan, fingers stroking the hidden organ. Suddenly, he felt the fingers in his hair tighten and pull his face back. A moment later, Garak’s prUt emerged. It was slightly shorter than Julian’s cock, but thicker, especially at the base. It glistened with lubricant, pale grey, somewhat lighter than the rest of his skin.

Bashir was transfixed. He wanted to feel it inside his mouth. He tried to duck his head to wrap his lips around it, but the hand in his hair held him firmly. “Please,” he breathed, feverish. “Please. I want to taste you,” he begged, hazel eyes burning. “I want to suck your beautiful prUt.”

“Julian,” Garak said sternly, still holding the young man by the hair, “while I’d like to believe you have nothing but the purest of intentions, a man’s prUt is hardly something to offer to a near-stranger’s teeth. Besides,” he said, grinning wickedly, “I’m nearly ready to fuck you.”

Bashir’s breath hitched and he felt a drop of precum roll, cooling, down his overheated cock. “Please,” he whispered, pulling away from the hand in his hair just to feel the sting. Apparently sensing this, Garak tightened his hand. Bashir’s eyes watered at the sensation, and he whimpered. Meeting Garak’s eyes, he purred, “Please fuck me. Please, Garak.” Still kneeling in front of Garak, he spread his thighs farther. “Please.”

Bashir saw a flash in Garak’s eyes that, for just a moment, scared him. _A near-stranger_ , he thought. Then Garak stood and pulled Bashir to his feet. He kissed the doctor, and for a brief moment the Cardassian’s silky slick prUt slid against the human’s cock, and Bashir whimpered shamelessly. Garak led the doctor behind the sofa and positioned him over the waist-high back of it. Bashir’s mind flashed through all the women he’d fucked in this same position, some over this very sofa. _And now Garak will fuck me over this sofa_. The idea excited him.

He felt a slick finger rub along the cleft of his ass, and he shivered. Garak soothed and steadied Bashir with one hand while he slipped a finger inside the young man with the other. Bashir’s breath caught. _Garak is inside me._ He whimpered as the finger began to move, twisting gently. “Relax,” Garak hissed softly. As Bashir’s whimpers turned into moans, Garak added another finger. Bashir breathed deeply, willing his muscles to accept Garak stretching him. It had been so long since anything bigger than his own finger had been inside him. Garak’s fingers found a rhythm, silky with his own lubricant. Bashir felt his body adjust, and he pushed his hips back against the fingers inside him. “Garak, please. Please.”

“Julian.”

“Yes, Garak?” Bashir panted, impatient.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. Please. Please! Fuck me!”

“If you need time to adjust, please let me know, my dear,” Garak said.

 _How can he sound so damn transactional? Fuck me, for god’s sake._ “I will, just please, please, I need to feel you.”

Garak removed his fingers, and Bashir felt the Cardassian’s prUt pressing into him. It was far silkier than the older man’s fingers, and warmer. Bashir rocked his hips back against it, and a full-throated groan escaped him as Garak’s prUt slipped deep into him.

“Oh, fuck!” Bashir cried out, unable to censor himself. “Oh my god. You feel so fucking good. Fuck, you're so _thick_ ,” he continued, babbling as the feeling of all-consuming fullness rendered him nearly incoherent. “You’re stretching me and fuck it feels _so good_.”

Realizing Garak was holding still while he adjusted, Bashir pressed his hips back against the Cardassian, who then began thrusting slowly, deeply. Bashir whimpered with every thrust, struggling to relax around the thick base of Garak’s prUt. Garak gripped Bashir’s hip firmly with his left hand, and his right hand slid around Bashir’s waist, grazing his pubic hair. Bashir gasped, canting his hips to bring his long-ignored cock into contact with Garak’s hand. Garak withdrew his hand, gliding it up Bashir’s ribs and across his chest. Still thrusting slowly, Garak pinched Bashir’s nipples, pulling moans from the younger man.

“Garak. Please,” Bashir pleaded through gritted teeth. “ _Please_.”

“Please what?” Garak asked, drawing gasps from Bashir as he rolled the young human’s nipples between his fingers.

Bashir rolled his ass back against the Cardassian’s ridged hips. “Please, touch me. Please.” He gasped as Garak pinched one nipple and pulled. “Pleasepleaseplease, fuck, please touch me, I can’t-“

“I _am_ touching you, Julian,” Garak hissed, pulling the young man upright so their bodies were flush. “I’m touching you,” he whispered into Bashir’s ear. He nipped the human, hard, where his shoulder arched into his neck. Bashir cried out. “You’re awfully demanding for a man receiving so much of my attention.” He felt Garak’s teeth work across the line of his neck and shoulder, biting the flesh in time to the thrust of his hips, no doubt leaving a trail angry welts and bruises.

“Ye-“ Bashir tried to say, but he found he was too overwhelmed by sensation to speak. He could no longer focus on anything but the sharp teeth at his neck, the cruel fingers on his nipples, and the hard, heavy thickness thrusting inside him. His whole body pulsed, ecstatic.

Garak’s hand slid from Bashir’s nipples back down his ribs, and he pushed the young man down to rest on the back of the sofa again. Bashir felt that hand glide across his stomach, and, finally -- _finally!_ \-- down to graze over his throbbing, leaking, aching erection. He cried out at the contact and bucked his hips hard against Garak, needy.

Bashir thought he heard a soft chuckle, but a moment later, Garak removed his hand. With both hands, he gripped Bashir’s hips and began to pound into him in earnest. The doctor forgot about everything except the feeling of ridged hips slamming against his ass and thighs, driving a thick, wet Cardassian prUt deep inside him. He whimpered his need with every heavy impact, and he growled his approval when Garak moved one hand to grip the back of his neck.

Bashir tilted his hips to give Garak better access to his prostate. When he finally felt Garak’s hard, slick prUt glide over the gland, he screamed. Lights flashed behind his eyelids, and he whimpered shamelessly at the stimulation. Garak held him in this new angle, fucking him ruthlessly hard. Bashir let go completely and allowed himself to be lost in sensation, pleading incoherently for Garak to fuck him harder, faster. Time stretched and condensed and shimmered until he knew nothing but the deliciously brutal, electric pleasure of Garak’s hips snapping against his thighs, Garak’s prUt sliding and stretching and filling.

When Garak finally wrapped his hand around Bashir’s agonizingly hard erection, it took only a few strokes before Bashir cried his release. He convulsed, sobbed with rapturous relief, saw phosphenes dance behind his eyelids. As his body clenched around Garak’s prUt, he heard a gasp behind him and felt a liquid heat inside him as Garak’s hips bucked even harder for several moments and then stilled. Garak withdrew, and Bashir felt semen dripping down the insides of his trembling thighs.

Exhausted, Bashir hoisted a leg over the low back of the sofa and lay down on it, panting. Opening his eyes, he reached a hand to Garak, pulling him to the sofa with him. Bashir scooted backward, so his back was to the cushions. The older man regarded him cautiously for a moment, then lay next to him, flat on his back, watchful. Bashir curled his top arm and leg over Garak, and the two of them panted together quietly for several minutes. Bashir closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Garak studying his face. Suddenly shy, Bashir spoke. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Garak looked at the doctor appraisingly. After a moment, he nodded subtly. “Thank _you_.”

“I’m looking forward to lunch,” Bashir said, smiling.

“As am I, doctor.” Garak regarded the young man a moment longer, then gently squeezed Bashir’s arm before disentangling himself from the human’s grasp. He dressed quietly and offered a polite Cardassian nod as he left.

Bashir’s gaze lingered on the door after the tailor left.


End file.
